Dead as Folk Preview
by Whoever-Typed-This-Up
Summary: In the midst of a zombie apocalypse, the team has taken shelter in the former Babylon. Preview. Alternative Universe. Character Death.


_I extended my hand, and placed it upon the creature's shoulder, which felt like leather underneath my hand; the creature turned and stared at me with one eye, the other reduced to crème caramel from decomposition. There were no emotions in the eye; the reflective surface reminded me of water. For a moment, the creature and I stared upon each-other; we addressed each-other with detachment, because we had both been in this situation before. I would kill him, or he would kill me, those were the two conclusions we had for the scene, there were no alternatives._

_I raised my other hand, which clenched a knife, and held it for several seconds before I pushed down into the centre of the creature's forehead. The creature's flesh separated like wool underneath the pressure I applied, and brown blood like bile leaked from the wound. As I pushed the knife deeper into the creature, its mouth opened, and I expected to hear a final moan of defeat and of death, but instead he made to close his mouth upon my hand, which still rested upon its shoulder. I pulled my hand backwards but the creature's teeth scraped across the skin like the blade of a peeler across an apple or a tomato to reveal the fresh scarlet colour of my flesh. Blood came to the surface of the wound, and poured out like wine at a medieval banquet. The creature's eye widened as the blood surfaced, but before he could make for my hand for the second time, he collapsed on the floor like a cotton doll in the wind._

_I watched him collapse with satisfaction, and after some time had elapsed I allowed relief to settle upon me like a blanket. I wiped the blade of my knife on my shirt, and the brown blood stains across the white material made my shirt resemble used toilet paper. I turned, and-_

"Justin, _Justin_ . . ." the voice came across him like the direct beam of a torch.

"Uh?"

Justin turned around to address Brian, whose hand on his shoulder had pulled him from sleep. Justin rubbed his hand across his eyes, and after his eyes had conditioned themselves to the limited illumination of the room, he said: "What is it?" He could read the concern upon Brian's features, even in the darkness.

"Did you . . ?" Brian started to ask, but the question escaped him. Justin watched his mouth labour to locate the words, which seemed to be spread like flowers in the winter. "You dreamt about him," Brian stated. His tone was intended to be stern, but came as fearful. "You said his name."

"Oh," Justin breathed as realisation came upon him. "Did I. . . Did I wake you?"

"No," Brian lied. "I was awake."

Four minutes passed with them in silence, and then Justin said: "I'm sorry." Justin placed his hand upon Brian's, which lay between them on the mattress like a misplaced sock. Justin held his hand for a moment, and then intertwined their fingers so that their palms were pressed to each-other. Brian's palm was moist with perspiration. "I know that, I . . . I'm sorry."

Brian pulled his hand from Justin's hand, and turned around on the mattress so that he faced the opposition direction from Justin. "We need to sleep," he stated. Justin watched him. "We have a raid, tomorrow. We need to be attentive. Alert."

Justin placed his hand upon Brian's shoulder, and traced the muscles between his shoulders and the chords of his spine. He could feel each of Brian's inhalations and exhalations underneath his palm, and it calmed him somewhat.

"I love you," Justin said, but his declaration seemed to be broadcast to deaf audiences. Brian made no indication as to whether he had heard him or not; Brian seemed to be asleep.

Justin waited what could have been an hour, or a second, and then settled into the mattress in the comfortable space behind Brian. He slid himself close to Brian's form, which expelled heat like a radiator. Justin slipped his hand across Brian's waist, and nestled his face into Brian's neck, where he could smell the familiar perfume of perspiration and pepper. Sometimes, when they raided a beauty clinic, the scents of fruits or spices would loiter there like drunkards after a public house had closed. Justin pressed his mouth to Brian's neck, and allowed his tongue to taste the heated skin. The taste had the opiate effect of heroin upon him.

Brian clutched Justin's hand and pulled it across his chest so that it rested at his breast, inches above his heart, so that Justin could feel his pulse on his knuckles. The contact was almost literal in its translation; _you are near my heart_, was translated into:_ I love you_. Even in their deadened world, the ability to translate the cryptic language of Brian Kinney remained a marketable skill.

A smile crawled upon Justin's mouth and settled there, and then Justin closed his eyes.

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Author's Note: This was posted as an experiment, because I'm not sure if anyone wants to read 'Queer as Folk - With Zombies'. Please tell me if you would like me to expand upon this, and write actual chapters.

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An Excerpt from 'Dead as Folk'

Written by Whoever-Typed-This-Up

Story by Whoever-Typed-This-Up and Lou Tailor

Dedicated to Archie and The Romans


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